


tall saint, i'm devoted to you

by starscapes



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, M/M, jyn erso? is that some kind of sauce?, listen im so soft for these bfs who deserved more interaction, rip k-2so sorry buddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-14 22:40:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9207794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starscapes/pseuds/starscapes
Summary: “In the beginning—long, long before you and me, humans had four arms and four legs,” Cassian says, propping himself up on one elbow as he traces the lines of Bodhi’s face. “Two beings in one who couldn't bear to be apart. But they were split into two by a vengeful god because of how strong their love for each other was. That strength threatened to overtake the heavens.”





	

“—ey, hey.” It takes Bodhi a while, but he starts to realize Cassian is repeating something. “Rook?”

“Huh?” Bodhi blinks, his vision hazy. There’s rain spattering the windows and Cassian’s drinking wine, face cast in shadow.

“You keep falling asleep,” Cassian murmurs. "I made a wish for you.”

He's tracing patterns in the condensation on the glass, one hand resting feather-light on Bodhi’s knee. His lips curve into a barely-there smile, lopsided and bitten pink at the middle. They had climbed up to the highest point at the base to watch the meteor shower. Jyn was off brooding, and Baze and Chirrut wanted some privacy, and K2 was dead, so it was just them.

“Oh. Thanks,” Bodhi replies, without asking what Cassian had wished for. He coughs before repeating himself. “Thank you.”

\- 

Yavin 4’s air has started to warm when Bodhi approaches Cassian with an old razor and a timid request.

“You what?”

Resisting the urge to say _forget it_ and run off, Bodhi answers, “there’s no one else I can go to. Jyn’s talking to the Princess, and I can’t find Baze, and Chirrut is blind, even though I trust him with my life I’m not letting him cut my hair and I don’t know anyone else here well enough, even the nurses make me nervous—”

“Sure,” Cassian interrupts. “How much?”

“A lot of it,” Bodhi says.

“Now,” Cassian explains a little later, Bodhi sitting between his knees in the communal ‘fresher, “I’m not very good at this.”

“S’okay. Just go for it. It doesn't need to look nice.”

Cassian does, and by the end Bodhi has a decent, if somewhat crooked, haircut, buzzed close on the sides. His ponytail, part of it already missing from the blast on Scarif, lies like a limp black snake on the tiles.

He’s about to move away when he feels a hand at the back of his head, ruffling the fine hair near his ears.

“Uh, Cassian—”

Cassian is already letting go. “Right.” 

Bodhi stands up and Cassian joins him a second after. His head is tipped back the slightest bit, and he studies Bodhi with half-lidded eyes, a smile playing around his mouth. 

“What?” Fear, that familiar beast, curls around Bodhi’s heart and squeezes.

Cassian huffs with laughter and reaches out to touch his shorn head again. A seemingly friendly gesture, but his skin is so warm it sends a shudder running through Bodhi. Heat flares in his gut, a familiar yet foreign sensation.

“Nothing, really. It just looks nice like this.” Cassian’s thumb brushes the corner of Bodhi’s lips for one quick second before dropping away. “We better clean this up.”

\- 

Burns never really heal, Bodhi notices, examining his forearms. The flesh is still tender, riddled with reddish welts—and he hates looking at the rest of himself, even in the showers. Even though he’d rolled out of the ship in the nick of time, he’d been scorched all over, and the right side of his torso was where the grenade blast hit worst. He was submerged in bacta for days, completely missing the Death Star’s destruction—and the awards ceremony. His medal had been left beside his med bay cot, and when he’d first seen it, he hadn’t believed it was his. 

The most surprising thing about working for the Rebellion was being lauded as a hero. It's nothing like the Empire, and Bodhi is grateful.

“Lost in thought?”

Bodhi jerks, smacking his head against a loose brick. Chirrut Îmwe is crouched above him, his eyes cataract-blue and curious. 

“W-what’re you doing here?”

Unperturbed, Chirrut picks his way down onto Bodhi’s ledge. “Could ask you the same.”

“Watching the sunset,” Bodhi admits, swinging his legs out over the landing pad below. A bit of rock crumbles beneath him, and he gulps, pressing his back to the temple wall. “I did it on my cargo runs a lot. And with my mother, when I was young. I used to draw all the different ones I saw—the only thing I was really good at, I suppose.” 

Chirrut snorts. “You are a wonder, Bodhi Rook.”

“I—what?” Bodhi stops, staring incredulously at him.

“The _only thing?_ You saved our lives back on Scarif!” Chirrut exclaims. “Swooping in like that with that Imperial ship you stole? Don’t you know how highly everyone thinks of you? Be proud of yourself!” He prods Bodhi with his staff. “And straighten your shoulders.”

Bodhi squints up at him. Chirrut is smiling in his direction, haloed by the evening sun. _No wonder Baze loves him,_ Bodhi thinks. _He’s like a living ray of light._

“Do you know,” he begins, “if Captain Andor— _Cassian,_ I mean, thinks highly? Of me?”

“I don’t doubt it. Baze did say he has the face of a friend, and I can tell there is much love in him.”

“How—?”

Winking, Chirrut simply replies, “the Force works in mysterious ways.”

And Bodhi, his heart a little lighter, laughs and thanks him and watches the sun slip over Yavin’s horizon.

\- 

It’s finally the full flush of dry season—read: blisteringly hot—and Bodhi retreats into Cassian’s tiny quarters to avoid it. They’re rooming together because Jyn point-blank refused to share with a man and Bodhi still has pretty regular nightmares. Cassian’s good at helping him through them—he’s got his fair share. 

Attempting to fight off the weather, Cassian procures a creaky air conditioning unit for Bodhi to fix up, and even if it’s not the greatest, at least they’re not waking up soaked in sweat.

Cassian often sits in front of the unit, his healing leg stretched out as he scans dozens of holographs. Outside, the world is green-blue-yellow and the image he’s studying displays a dark, scaly creature, the likes of which Bodhi’s never seen. Cassian’s wearing a tan shirt with the sleeves rolled up and his body is a stocky, scarred landscape; the mountains of Jedha, but lovelier.

“What’re you looking at?” Bodhi asks from his perch on his bunk. He’s sitting on his hands, rocking back and forth—Cassian’s stillness makes him uneasy. 

Cassian breathes out, bangs flying off his forehead. “I’m trying to learn as much as I can. The holos might tell us more about Vader’s identity.”

Despite the serious topic, there’s something fond in his voice. Something secret. Bodhi finds himself staring, and a familiar yet near-forgotten heat unwinds low inside him. A spark, then a whole raging fire. It’s hard to look away.

Cassian is tapping against the side of the projector as if he's suddenly remembered something. “These vids don’t just show archived footage,” he muses. “There are stories in them too. Well, more like myths—soulmates, that sort of thing. It’s interesting.”

“Do you believe in it? Red threads and stuff?” Bodhi interrupts, and feels stupidly impulsive afterwards. He fiddles with his goggles, smearing his thumb over the lens.

“Oh, no.” Cassian turns the device off and hauls himself up next to Bodhi, leaning in close enough that their breaths mingle. He smells like a marketplace, a mix of faint spicy perfumes and sweat and crumbled earth. “Love is just a distraction from the cause.” 

Bodhi, heart hammering against his ribcage, nods dazedly. “R-right.”

And the look on Cassian’s face, kriffing _hell,_ smug like he knows something Bodhi doesn’t, a smile tugging at his lips. Bodhi doesn’t know what to make of him, what to do with all the want that floods through him every time Cassian touches him or talks to him or even just _looks_ at him like he’s something special.

It doesn’t matter, though. Cassian tips Bodhi’s chin up with two fingers—so achingly gentle—and when he pushes their mouths together, Bodhi thinks he can taste sunlight.

\- 

“That, uh,” Bodhi gasps out after they manage to tear themselves apart. “That wasn’t your first kiss, w-was it.”

“Of course not.” Cassian looks oddly pleased. There’s a bite mark on the swell of his bottom lip, and Bodhi thinks, _that was me._ “But it was nice, as I’d hoped. Good job, my pilot." 

\- 

It’s been a few drawn-out weeks since the kiss, and they’ve barely made eye contact. Cassian can stand on his injured leg now, so he’s sent out on a three-day mission. It goes badly, and he comes back late at night, restless and angry, sporting two bleeding grazes from a trooper’s blaster and a litany of cuts and bruises. 

In the deserted mess hall, he finds Bodhi fiddling with the stove behind the serving counter. Dropping his bags on the nearest table, Cassian heads over to him. “What are you doing here?”

Bodhi doesn’t look up. He adjusts a knob on the stove. The hall smells like salt and spices: an old family recipe that he somehow still remembers even after Saw’s torture. “Cooking. The staff said I could. It helps with, uh, stim withdrawal.” He’s not lying; his hands are growing steadier, his mind clearing from the Imperial drug cocktail— _to keep him awake during runs,_ they'd said (lied). “Hope you like it.”

“What about what you like?” Cassian’s voice is almost a hiss, taut with pent-up frustration and something else Bodhi knows but cannot comprehend. Why would Cassian _ever_ —how could he feel like that about—? 

Bodhi swallows hard, and dips his head further instead of replying. He senses Cassian’s regret instantly. 

“Never mind. Don’t answer that.” Cassian half-turns to leave, scratching at the stubble on his chin.

“Wait,” Bodhi blurts, and when he glances up, Cassian’s staring back, eyes hungry. “I can think of one thing. If y-you want—”

\- 

And then they’re pressed up against the counter and each other, Bodhi scrabbling to turn off the stove, his murmur of “not _here”_ cut off by the urgency of Cassian’s lips. Cassian isn’t careful like the few Empire pilots Bodhi has been with: he’s clumsy, clutching like a drowning man, kissing like he wants to crawl under Bodhi’s ribs and make a home there. And he _bites,_ just once, gently on Bodhi’s shoulder, when their hips roll together in sync.

“Um,” Bodhi says, pulling back a fraction.

Cassian laughs, a surprising sound. He laughs and laughs against the hollow of Bodhi’s throat, and then his hands are on him again, pulling his shirt all the way off, and it's good, so good Bodhi arches right up against Cassian, for once shameless.

\- 

“Tell me about the soulmate myth,” Bodhi says after they migrate to Cassian’s quarters. He’s curled up, nervous on one side of his bunk. A jacket (not his) is flung over his shoulders, and he’s only wearing underwear otherwise, and it’s just cool enough in the room to make him shiver. He glances down at Cassian, who’s sprawled out shirtless next to him and casually chewing at his thumbnail. “The one you mentioned before.”

Cassian smiles between his fingers. “The origin of love, hm?”

 _Stupid,_ Bodhi tells himself, because he's sure both he and Cassian know he’s trying too hard. His cheeks are hot against his bare knees. 

And then Cassian’s pressing him back into the mattress, slow and gentle, down next to him. His left leg over Bodhi’s right. His eyes are deep, deep brown, all earth and warmth and desire, too.

“In the beginning—long, long before you and me, humans had four arms and four legs,” Cassian says, propping himself up on one elbow as he traces the lines of Bodhi’s face. “Two beings in one who couldn't bear to be apart. But they were split into two by a vengeful god because of how strong their love for each other was. That strength threatened to overtake the heavens.”

Cassian doesn’t get any further than that. Bodhi doesn’t let him, not with the way he’s stretched out, all lean limbs and lopsided smile. But when Bodhi crawls atop him—when he feels Cassian shudder under his touch—he thinks, _yeah. Yeah, I can see that._

\- 

Bodhi dreams of himself and Cassian in the same body. It’s a weird thought, but he wakes up feeling pleased at the concept, if somewhat uneasy. One giant heart, one giant brain. Never apart. As sleep clears from his mind, Bodhi pictures himself and Cassian crawling around attached to each other, and stifles a laugh at the image. He’s being ridiculous.

However, Bodhi does wonder at this: he's only ever really dreamt about what he wants. A family. A higher status than _cargo pilot._ Approval. A kick in the teeth for joining the Empire. A place he could actually call home.

Now this.

Cassian shifts in his sleep, eyebrows furrowed, lips brushing against the side of Bodhi’s head. His hair is ruffled, a bird’s feathers just before flight. 

And, so strongly and suddenly it alarms him, Bodhi thinks he could stay here forever. With Cassian’s palm on his chest and the smell of him all around, iron and spices and home. Oh, he could.

\- 

Cassian, he finds out, likes Bodhi’s mouth on the nape of his neck, likes Bodhi’s hands—elegant, he proclaims, studying his knuckles with fascination. He doesn’t like pet names, no _baby_ or _darling,_ but that’s okay because neither does Bodhi. He likes long kisses and fast sex and only wants what Bodhi’s willing to give; never pries, never pulls. He tears apart Bodhi’s nightmares with calm words. He understands.

It’s nice. Strange.

Bodhi thinks he might be a little (a lot? he’s not sure) in love. But whenever he comes close to putting it into words, Cassian seems to fold into himself, something shutting behind his eyes.

And saying it out loud becomes hard.

\- 

“Say my name,” Bodhi murmurs on impulse. His mouth is pressed to Cassian’s throat, but it’s only fear that’s driving him. The memories are not always so easy to keep at bay. Tonight is no exception. 

“Bodhi,” Cassian obliges, stroking the growing tufts of his hair.

Bodhi squeezes his eyes shut. “Again. Make me real, Cassian, _please.”_

Cassian hesitates. “We don’t have to—”

_“Say it.”_

Cassian weakens, lowers his head. “Bodhi.”

“Again,” Bodhi demands. There’s tentacles prying through his brain and cuffs around his wrists and sheer, sheer horror sparking in his every nerve but he grabs at Cassian anyway, him and his warm, real, skin.

“Bodhi, Bodhi, it’s me. You’re okay—!”

 _I know._

Bodhi opens his eyes. 

Cassian’s clinging to him—always drowning—his gaze dark and concerned, darting all over. 

Bodhi allows himself the tiniest smile. “Thank you.”

Cassian hauls him up into his arms. “My pilot,” he says, and kisses the top of Bodhi’s head. Hums a song Bodhi doesn’t know. Holds him until his breathing slows, and afterwards, too, until the stars are dragged from the sky.

\- 

Bodhi goes on his first official mission. 

It’s hard to focus when Cassian’s lips and hands and crinkling eyes are right there in the co-pilot seat, and even as Bodhi shoots down TIE fighter after TIE fighter, he doesn’t stop thinking about the scent of metal, of warmth and cloves and fresh earth.

They stop for a night on a moon far from Yavin 4. Cassian stays awake, fiddling with the controls. Bodhi, taking up as little space among the sleeping crew as possible, keeps one eye open and watches.

Next to him, Baze, who’s been very quiet—probably since Chirrut stayed behind—suddenly elbows him in the ribs. Bodhi jumps.

“What?”

Shaking his head and smiling, Baze answers, “young people are so foolish, 弟弟.”

\- 

“I love you,” Cassian gasps, eyes a little wild, desperate. “Bodhi, Bodhi, you’ve got to tell me—” 

“I’m here,” Bodhi says, pressing their foreheads together. “It’s fine, I’m here.”

When Cassian comes, crying out against Bodhi’s throat, it’s like something sacred. 

\- 

The next morning, Bodhi wakes up shivering, and realizes Yavin’s falling into wet season again. It’s a marvel, how quickly time has passed. He pulls Cassian’s arm off his waist and clambers out of bed to turn off the air conditioning, skin prickling in the cool air.

Behind him, there’s a ruffling of sheets. Bodhi flicks the unit switch, then swivels to meet Cassian’s sleep-hazy gaze. There’s a look of near-panic on Cassian’s face, and Bodhi can tell he’s trying to worm his way out of this.

“Um,” Cassian begins, scrubbing a hand over his face. “What I said last night.” 

Bodhi lowers his eyes.

“I am sorry. It was—heat of the moment, you know. And—” 

Cassian trails off as Bodhi stands abruptly, crosses the room, and kneels in front of him.

Willing his hands not to shake, Bodhi reaches out and grabs Cassian's face with both hands, forcing their gazes to meet. Cassian’s eyes dart over him, skittish, lips a tight line.

“I’m not that stupid, you know.” Bodhi lets an edge creep into his voice, serious and level, nearly threatening. He knows Cassian likes it as much as the rest of him. “You say my name in your sleep.”

“I do.” It’s not so much a question as a grudging acceptance.

Bodhi nods, and slides his thumbs down to cup Cassian's jaw, feeling the delicate pulse beneath it flutter at his touch. They stay that way for a moment before Cassian leans in and Bodhi’s stomach twists itself into knots.

For all he knows, they could die within days. But right now, Cassian’s mouth is a promise.

\- 

In Bodhi’s opinion, the best myth starts like this: an Alliance captain in an ugly fur jacket walks into Saw Gerrera’s prison and says, _I'm going to save you, and in doing so, will ruin your life._

“That’s an odd joke,” Cassian interrupts, gazing down indignantly at his aforementioned jacket. “And not very funny, might I add. Not a myth.”

“What do you know, hm?” Bodhi says, and passes the wine over, kissing Cassian’s wrist as he does so.

Outside, the first brilliant meteor falls.

**Author's Note:**

> title paraphrased from _tall saint_ by the national.
> 
> god this is so gay....i love my boys....anyway hope u enjoyed this daily reminder that the entire rogue one crew is gay
> 
> also i know they leave yavin right after the events of a new hope but i brought dead people back to life in this fic so fuck a canon hoe !


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